


Never Took Piano Lessons, But Baby You're a Grand

by inthisdive



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthisdive/pseuds/inthisdive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet afternoon, and Ashlee is stretched out on her stomach on the living room carpet in sweats and a t-shirt. The sweats ride low on her hips and the shirt bunches at her waist; the exposed swathe of skin is alabaster-white and not quite stretched tight, and Bronx's little hands caress it in a curious, little kind of wonder. Title from "Might Tell You Tonight," by the Scissor Sisters.  This was written in 2008 OBVIOUSLY. Ficspiration: http://twitpic.com/2zgqa</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Took Piano Lessons, But Baby You're a Grand

Ashlee's happy. The word gets tossed around so casually that the meaning gets diminished; some people have taken the word and broken it down to mean any moment of fleeting pleasure, but that just doesn't seem right to her, doesn't seem balanced for her. Ashlee isn't a Jessica - she can't rest _happy_ on one tiny thing, that proverbial mat that sits on her doorway. In her heart, in her home, 'happy' still means something bigger than the sky.

And in her heart and in her home, with her Pete and her precious little Bronx, Ashlee is really and truly happy. 

*

Separation is getting harder and harder and it's so difficult for Ashlee to describe how it feels. There's a physical ache when he's gone, a definite missing link to every last chain that makes her. He's not just her Peter, he's Daddy now, and sometimes Ashlee is still a conservative girl; she knows how important Daddies are to a family, how they are glue to keep them all together. It's funny that of all the people in all of the world that it's Pete who stabilises her. It's funny that he is her foundation, that solid rock of all her ages, but there it is, and it's the kind of funny that makes so much more sense when you're in on the joke. 

She needs him, and Bronx needs him, and they miss him so much that when he's gone, they nap with their heads together on his pillow and breathe in his scent. 

Bronx keeps her sane when the house is missing a soul. He is cheerful, so placid that it's hard to believe he's a Simpson, a Wentz. Ashlee didn't know they were capable of calm, but one look at Bronx's face tells her everything, tells her exactly what she and Pete are capable of - magic.

It's a quiet afternoon, and Ashlee is stretched out on her stomach on the living room carpet in sweats and a t-shirt. The sweats ride low on her hips and the shirt bunches at her waist; the exposed swathe of skin is alabaster-white and not quite stretched tight, and Bronx's little hands explore it in a curious, little kind of wonder.

Ashlee is ticklish and it makes her laugh, her hair a tangled mass of red that threatens to catch in her mouth as she takes giant gasps of breath, but she just can't stop _giggling_. Bronx claps his hands together and squeals with delight along with her - and it's the most beautiful sound Ashlee has ever heard; she sits up and gathers him in her lap and cuddles him close.

He is so perfect that it brings tears to her eyes.

* 

Pete's voice on the other end of the line when he tours is so _endearing_ , Ashlee thinks the next day: it's a late-morning roughness from sleep and post-show husked, and from that first "Hey, Ash," she remembers a first meeting of eyes, a giddy first-kiss rush, the _I do_ and she smiles like she's a teenager again. Pete has always been the _him_ \- and always in pure italics just like that; the boy that gets spotlighted on a darkened stage when she closes her eyes and daydreams. 

"Hey, you," she replies, and it's a routine, now, something tiny and familiar and so domestic that she'd probably be kind of sick of them if she wasn't part of it. She hears his laugh on the other end of the line, low and chuckling and affectionate.

Suddenly, she realises that Bronx could have that exact laugh when he grows up. She smiles.

He asks about Bronx and the mostly-asleep little boy in her lap stirs and coos as though he _knows_ , and her smile just gets bigger.

"He's just fine," she promises, "We're having fun here at home."

"Too much fun?" Pete asks, and he sounds like such a worried parent. Ashlee grins, and switches the cellphone to her other ear. 

"Well," she says, trying to be solemn, "He drank two and a half bottles of gin - _and a half_! He knows when to stop."

"Don't even joke," Pete warns, and Ashlee laughs, a warm and bubbling laugh that has affection written all over it; Bronx stirs and claps his tiny hands together, and Ashlee feels like they're in on it together, a little tiny team. 

"Okay," Ashlee agrees. "No more joking."

"Good."

"It was a half-bottle."

"Ash!" Pete groans, so Ashlee just giggles and holds the phone to Bronx's ear, letting his little babbles make all things better.

When she takes the phone and slips it back up to her ear, she catches Pete telling Bronx all about the show, about the bus and boys and and she clears her throat in the softest way possible to let him know that he's back with her now, and if it was anything but this exact situation she'd almost be offended by his sigh - but she can't possibly be.

"I miss you guys," he says as earnestly as if he needed to convince her when she knows it in her bones. It's this intensity that she loves about him, as much as it scares her that one day their boy might just be so intense.

"We miss you too," she replies, in something of a voice she guesses wives know instinctively, that tone that's a soothe and a caress all at once, a tiny lilting melody that says _I love you_ in every note. She can almost feel it spiralling out in the sky above their heads and finding Pete, so far away, and tapping him on the shoulder.

That's just how they work.

*

There are tears in her eyes when they end the call, and she hugs Bronx tight, bowing her head close to kiss the top of his head - and Bronx is still chattering away in a little tumble of her words, and the tears just can't fall when there's that in her life.

"Oh, really?" she asks Bronx, smiling and leaning back a little so she can study his face with that face of perfect interest. "Tell me more?"

And he does. 

*


End file.
